Coincidence
by EmmaAugustLover
Summary: Hope Falem was a normal, intelligant girl until she met Sherlock Holmes. Now she's going across the country as one of his colleagues, helping him solve crime. What happens when Moriarty views her unrealized importance to Sherlock? Rated T for now
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I run down the stairs with my notebook in my hand. My brown hair brushing against the back of my neck and the smell of eggs filling my nostrils.

"Good morning, sweetheart." My mother says, with the stove reflecting the smoke of breakfast in the air.

I set my notebook on the small table in the kitchen and sit down. "Hello Mum." I reply.

"Are you getting dressed for the museum trip?" She asks, adding a spice to the food.

I freeze in my place before rushing up the stairs like a cheetah.

I have an summer school trip with the students in my advanced chemistry class. Incoming sophomores are the only ones allowed to go on this trip and it will be with all of the classes in the tenth grade.

I threw on a short sleeve shirt and jeans, not caring what I wear. I keep my wavy brown hair down and comb through it to get the knots out.

I run back downstairs to see my mum waiting by the door with my bag and the notebook in her hand. "It's time for you to leave."

I smile at my mother and kiss her on the cheek before heading out the door to the busy streets of London. "I hope you will have a good time, Hope." My mother says as she closes the door after me.

"Don't worry mum, Alex will be there." I feel a reassuring smile stretch across my lips. I rest my hand on my bag and run to the corner of the side-walk.

I wave my arms towards a cab driving by and stops in front of me. I step inside and keep my bag with me.

For an odd reason, I feel unsafe around the cab driver. I get the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach and quarrel with my thoughts to whether I should look at the driver.

As an human instinct to be curious, I lean over to the left and look at the driver. He's an older man who appears to have his children in a photo in the front. I study him for a few seconds before he notices me and I look away with blush rising in my cheeks in shame.

I brush off my suspicions and glance out the window to see a group of teenagers gathered in an group in front of an museum. The cab stops and I gather my stuff together and get out.

I stand with the group, hearing our teacher gathering us all up and preparing to set off. I take my pencil out of my bag and flip through my notebook to an open page.

Right before we depart, I feel someone tugging on my arm. I furrow my brows and turn my back towards my classmates. In front of me, I see a boy with bright blonde hair and big brown eyes smiling at me like a lunatic.

"Alex, you're late, Mr. Dischler already marked names." I sigh in relief but still disappointed.

He doesn't reply but instead continues to tug on my arm and begins pulling me away from the group. "W-what are you doing? Our group is going into the museum!"

He stops tugging my arm and pulls out the money in his pocket. "Well, I've decided to take us out for ice cream."

I put my hands on my hips and stare at him like a mother would do to her child. "Well, I'm trying to get on Mr. Dischler's good side, now if you excuse me-" I start to walk to the entrance to the museum when he grabs my wrist.

"Come on Hope, this might be the only time I get to hang with you before I have to go see my grandmother in America." He bends down on one knee and pulls the puppy dog face on me.

I grimace and roll my eyes, "Fine, but if you get me in trouble than this might be the last time you EVER get to see me!"

He bounces back up on his feet and grabs my hand away from the museum until the crowd goes away from our sight.

We walk down the sidewalk and talk about our summer for what seems like another mile. "So, do you still search for your dad?" Alex asks in curiosity.

I smile and take my bag off my shoulders to dig for my journal. "Actually, I found some that could fit in the equation." I flip through the pages with pictures of the men I suspect.

I've been searching for my father since I was a little girl. My family and friends call me "Nancy Drew" when I get hooked on a murder story including books on detective stories.

I'm the only girl who didn't get disgusted when we were dissecting a pig last year. The other's would crawl up against the wall and gag, it was pretty funny if you ask me.

I have a lot of journals lying around in my room filled with mysterious, fictional and non-fictional. I remember I saw a crime story on television and I had thought I figured out who the perpetrator was but I was afraid the police wouldn't take me seriously.

I close the book and look back at Alex. "So, have you read anymore of Harry Potter?"

He shakes his head in morose, "No, haven't had time."

I smirk at him, not believing his excuse for an second. "Haven't had time?! What _have _you been doing this summer to make you unable to read _Harry Potter_?"

"Packing up for America," He sighs.

I raise an eyebrow, "You don't want to go?"

His chocolate eyes look into my lighter ones and shakes his head. "No, it's not that, it's just-I want to be able to spend more time with you."

I can't help but feel the heat rush to my cheeks and turn my head so he doesn't see. I try to push it away but I can't stop blushing and when I blush it's easy to go noticed.

"Have you played _Skyward Sword _lately?" Alex asks.

"Yeah, I've beaten the whole game." I smile at him with the excitement of talking about video games.

I'm the exact example of what people call a geek. I'm a teachers pet, a bookworm, and I play video games.

"What's your favorite part?"

I feel the blush rise in my cheeks again when I think of a specific part in the game. "Either when Ghirahim makes his appearance or when Ghirahim reveals his true self."

I can hear Alex scoff next to me, it's quiet but cant be hidden from me. "You have a crush on Ghirahim?!"

I raise a hand and laugh, "Guilty."

He shakes his head at me, "I guess you have a thing for creepy villains?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

I jump in front of Alex and change the subject, "Oh, I memorized the Zelda medley by h-" Without looking in front of me, I accidentally bump into someone.

Papers are flying around and I have no idea which one goes in which notebook. I just start grabbing random papers and placing them in a book. I feel the heat in my cheeks again, and this time in shame. "Oh, I'm so stupid!" I whisper to myself.

I look up to apologize to the person I hit when I see a man with curly hair and the same coat I see in the news. The man I've idolized over for many years. Sherlock Holmes.

Something inside my brain clicks as I stare into his eyes but I don't know what. All I know is that it might be something I have been searching for the longest time.

I quickly grab the nearest book and hand it over to him. "I'm sorry." I want to say so much more, but I can't, nothing will come out of my mouth.

I look for Alex who is standing next me with his mouth hung wide open at the presence of the man standing in front of me.

I try to move but something is weighing me down. Either it's the fact that Sherlock Holmes the greatest detective ever known to man is standing in front of me with his eyes looking at mine or I just can't move.

The next few seconds are mesmerizing, just staring at the man I've been dreaming to work with for as long as I've been able to read is just indescribable.

Its a long pause until Sherlock decides to move out of the way, mumbling something about teenagers.

Alex and I finally glance at each other before heading towards the ice cream parlor.

In a few minutes we finally get there, panting as we race each other. Alex is a little more athletic than I am so he's got a bit more breath to spare.

Right before we enter, I stop to catch my breath and Alex wins the race. He walks over to me and says, "You still owe me." He jokes.

I smirk at him and we walk inside the parlor. "I don't owe you anything."

It's another hour until we finish our ice cream, so we sit and talk at the table.

"I can't believe I met Sherlock Holmes." I gawk.

"You didn't technically meet him, you didn't say your name or anything." Alex says while fumbling with his fingers.

"Thats introducing not meeting."

"Yeah, but it's part of meeting someone,"

We argue about the conflict for the next few minutes until people start to look over and we have to stop.

"Besides it was only for a few seconds than he went away."

"Yeah but it felt like a few minutes." I say gloomily.

There's a long pause and my mind is debating whether I should tell him about what happened during the few seconds of meeting Sherlock.

I bang my knuckles against the table quietly as I finish my little debate.

I see Alex looking around the room in awkwardness until he catches my gaze.

"Your probably going to think I'm insane but when Sherlock and I looked at each other, it felt like something clicked inside me." I look up at him and I could tell he was trying his hardest not to laugh.

"Oooo look who has a crush on Sherlock Holmes!" Alex teases as he breaks his cover and starts to laugh.

I felt the embarrassment rush through me as he kept on laughing.

I reach over the table and lightly push him so we don't have an audience come and watch us. "it wasn't like that you idiot!"

He stops laughing and begins to calm down, "Ok, ok, sorry."

All my family say I have my mother's temper. But I suppose thats because of my grandmother's red hair tradition that stopped at me. But just because I don't have the red hair that passed down many female traditions in my family doesn't mean I don't have their temper.

I suddenly have a feeling that I should look at the time. Feeling scared I glance at Alex who notices my light anxiety. "What time is it?"

He raises an eyebrow and looks at the time on his phone. "It's two-thirty, why?"

My brows raise and I could have sworn I felt my eyeballs pop out of my head. "Doesn't the trip end at two?"

We both freeze in our chair and Alex is the only one to have the courage to say something. "Oh shit!"

Without giving a care about the others staring at us, we run out of the parlor and back towards the way our homes are with is about an hour away and the museum is about thirty minutes from where I live.

"We're totally screwed!" I hear Alex pant.

"Not yet, maybe Mr. Dischler hadn't noticed." I say with a hint of hope in my voice.

We sprint towards the nearest end of the street corner and catch our breath. "You-know, maybe we should go in different cabs so our parents don't suspect anything."

"Yeah, good idea." Alex replies as we stand quit a distance from each other. As a cab comes for me, we say our goodbyes.

Once I step inside the cab with my bag, I realize it's the same man that drove me this morning and he's staring right at me.

I prevent myself from furrowing my brows but there is honestly nothing else to do. _Was this guy following me this whole time? _

I shake it off and look out the window, to see the many flats passing by, soon enough the museum passes too.

Suddenly when he stops at my house, I feel a strange tightness enclose my throat and I look back at the strange man, and it seems that every time he stopped the cab, he would look straight at me. And I have a feeling, that strange uncomfortable feeling that this man is more of a threat than I thought he was this morning.

Before I can think, My hand pushes against the door and I feel like I'm trapped in a cage and not allowed to get set free.

I run towards the door and realize that the man is still there, waiting on me.

I erratically begin knocking on it until my mother shows up with a worried look on her face. "Come inside." She commands.

Not caring that my mother is clearly upset about something, I don't bother to look back.

I rush inside and look through the blinds hiding the window. The man isn't there.

_How odd. _

When I turn around, I find my mother standing only a few feet away from me. She doesn't look angry, she looks _furious. _

She places her hands on her hips and scolds me like a child. "Mr. Dischler called, he said you weren't in the group at the museum."

I feel my stomach drop at how I felt something like this was going to happen.

"So where were you?"

I sigh in defeat, "I was at an ice cream parlor with Alex."

She begins to walk away while shaking her head in disappointment.

"Well on the bright side, I met Sherlock Holmes!" I say with a happy expression on my face.

My mum freezes in her place. "You met who?"

"I met Sherlock Holmes! Well I accidentally ran into him but still, I met him!"

Right after I said that, she walked straight into her bedroom.

I raise an eyebrow and shrug it off. I walk up the stairs and into my room. I take off my bag and place it on my bed.

I rummage through it to make sure that I put my journal back in the bag but its not there. I know that I didn't have it when I went to the ice cream parlor so that must mean...

_Sherlock Holmes must have my journal filled with the theories of my thoughts and suspects of my father!_

I feel the rush of embarrassment flood through me once again today. I can't believe I would be so stupid in dropping my journal and giving it to the greatest detective I've ever known.

What if he looks through it? What if he keeps it and talks about it on his blog? That would be very humiliating!

I hope I see Sherlock very soon, I need my journal back.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Many months have passed by since I bumped into Sherlock Holmes. There were excessive amount of days I would search for him, but soon gave up after the first few months.

The strange man in the cab hasn't stopped by my house after that one day, but unfortunately, after school, I see him prowling around in that cab of his looking for someone.

It is now the beginning of February and I've checked Sherlock's website so far. Thankfully, he hasn't uploaded anything about my journal.

Alex had a great time in America visiting his grandmother, and came back a few weeks before school started. He informed me that he would like to go back, someday.

My head swarms with thoughts over the unusual summer that had passed a few months ago as I walk the damp streets of London.

It's odd walking alone in a crowd, without Alex next to me making me laugh.

The crowd is too much, so I decide to turn into a narrow alley. I continue down the dark alley, where I see loose papers flying in the wind and the dead silence, making my heart stop.

My boots splash against small puddles and the wind chills my bare hands. The only thing I can hear now is my erratic breath and heart pounding in my chest.

The indecisive feeling in the pit of my stomach, drives me to near insanity to whether I should continue down this path or head back home. But my legs make up their own mind. They advance down the wet road, as my mind conjures a voice calling out to me, a voice made by the wind hitting against my body.

The voice is calling out to me like a guide. I want to head back but the tiny voice in my head is pursuing me to head where my legs are taking me.

When I finally reach my destination I freeze in horror and confusion. In front of me, leaning against the brick building is a boy, limp and pale. He looks to be about my age or perhaps a bit older. He looks at least unconscious, but my gut feeling is telling me different.

I hesitantly walk towards him, with my whole body shaking as I'm staggering to the poor boy, when I finally reach him, he looks more dead than unconscious.

My fingertips touch his hands and they feel cold and lifeless. I force myself to look into his eyes and they are wide open as if someone had seen a horrifying movie. Almost as if someone had murdered him.

I study him for a second and realize he doesn't look physically injured.

_He must have consumed something then. Someone must have forced him to consume something. _

I step away from the body and pull out my phone to call the police.

After twenty minutes the police finally arrive. I see a detective inspector and a police officer walking towards me with very grim expressions on their faces.

They introduce themselves as DI Lestrade and Sally Donovan. When I talk to the both of them, I can tell Lestrade is a nice, compassionate fellow, and someone who could be easily friends with anyone without even trying, and Sally Donovan is an complete opposite. She was rude and stares at me like I'm some type of different species out of the universe.

They question me about the boy, and I tell them the story of this morning from the beginning. When I was walking alone in the crowd to when I found the boy, lifeless and as cold as ice.

At first I can see in their eyes, that they're suspicious of me, and the police check to see if I have any weapons hidden inside my clothing.

It's annoying for a bit, but I completely understand why they are doing this. Even though I may be as intelligent to commit such a crime, I have morals to look up to and I would personally never have another's life at risk because of me.

After I finish talking to Lestrade and Sally Donovan, in the distance, behind them, I see two figures heading my way.

The figures soon turn into two men. One is taller and lean and the other is shorter. When I squint my eyes, I immediately recognize the dark hair as soon as it comes closer into my view.

The tall and lean man is staring directly at me, possibly remembering me from the summer. His eyes tell it all, he suspects me in an way he doesn't. Following him, is the shorter man who seems to be more civil than the detective himself.

Sherlock stands next to Lestrade with his gaze still fixated on me. "What happened?"

Lestrade, mistakingly opens his mouth to speak to only be shushed by Sherlock. "I wasn't asking you, I was asking the girl." He says irritatingly.

Lestade simply glances away in an awkward state while the others stare at me for an explanation.

I sigh in frustration as I have to repeat the story towards the two police officers once again.

"Well, I was walking the streets alone when I decided to walk down this alley because I was simply bored and had nothing else to do on a saturday-"

"Just get to the point," Sherlock interrupts.

I decide to ignore him since the shorter man decides to give him a glare. "When I found a boy, that I at first think is unconscious, as I get closer, I realize he's almost as pale as snow. That's when I knew he was dead."

Sherlock walks off and neglects the rest of us to investigate the boy when I step forward. "He doesn't have any physical injuries on him. His eyes show an terrifying emotion. I'm thinking he must have consumed something hazardous."

I watch in anticipation as Sherlock slowly turns his back to the boy, and now to me, with an intrigued expression on his face.

"I think that boy was forced to consume something. I've already ruled out food, but there could be a chance that this was a liquid or perhaps even a pill."

"How do we know your not the culprit of it all?" The shorter man asks as the dead look in his eye could kill me.

I want to gap at him, but I don't due to understanding why he would suggest that idea. "I maybe as intelligent to make such a thing, but I would never commit a crime such as sacrificing another's life."

After my wisely chose of words, Lestrade, Sally Donovan and Sherlock's friend close into a semi-circle around me.

Sherlock eventually walks forward and into the semi-circle they have made, I can feel his hard gaze as he deduces everything about me, allowing myself to expose to him. "She's telling the truth."

Sherlock says nothing else as he walks away from the group with his friend. I can feel them whisper about me, either containing distrust or how I can deduce like he can.

My mind travels somewhere else in my mind. The man in the cab from many months ago. Maybe it was the way he would stare into my soul, or my bad vibe vibrating from his persona but I felt like I was a target for something, just like this poor boy was before he was caught in his death.

I have a strong urge to aware them of the man but I'm afraid they may just laugh it off and tell me I'm being delusional.

I feel my eyes move from the ground to something in Sherlocks hand. I furrow my brows and squint to take a closer look. It has a brown leathery cover along with a name written in gold lettering carved into the small book.

_Hope Falem_

My eyes widen as Sherlock flings it open and shows his friend many of my written conspiracies.

I feel the anger slowly boiling inside of me. _'Thats suppose to be private! I knew I shouldn't have dropped it.' _

I stomp my way over to where they are standing. Sherlock's friend waves his hand at the detective and the consultant quickly takes it away to at least get it away from my sight.

"Oi! Give me my journal back!" I shout with my hand held out as Sherlock tries his hardest to avoid me.

I try numerous times to get my journal back when I feel another's hand grab the book. I look up and see Sherlock's friend glare at the detective and he lets go.

"I'm sorry about Sherlock. He was just showing me all the written notes you have taken on these men."

"Why wouldn't he give it back, then?" I ask in annoyance as I glance at a disappointed Sherlock.

"Because I wasn't done reading all of the notes." Sherlock lies.

I ignore Sherlock's ignorance and turn my attention back to his friend.

"We think your theories are simply stunning. Especially for someone at your age." He says with a smile and leans into my ear, "Though I think Sherlock may be a tiny bit jealous and doubtful."

"I heard that," Sherlock says with a tint of pique in his voice.

We both ignore Sherlock and continue the conversation. "So, how long have you been searching for your father?"

"Since I've been allowed to go outside on my own."

"And your mother...did she accept this or did she decline it at first."

I shrug and face the direction of the crime scene, "She did what every mother would do. Make sure that her child was safe, so when I was a much younger child she would have someone go with me."

"Did she ever come with you?"

"Nah, she's pretty sensitive on the subject on my father."

"Oh...well...do you know anything about him, at least one thing."

"My mother did tell me one thing. She and my father ran away together after they finished grade school."

There's an sweet silence between us, as the friend is trying to process everything at once.

He smiles a calm, kind smile and holds out his hand for me to shake. "Well it was nice to meet you-"

Our hands come into contact with a firm shake. "Hope, and?"

"John Watson."

We say our goodbyes and I hear their footsteps as they walk away from me and the scene into the streets of London.

* * *

John and Sherlock are walking away from the sirens and the excessive shouting. "Sherlock, how do you think she was able to deduce the dead body of the boy?" John asks as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"I don't know, John, that's what I'm wondering."

"She's obviously not guilty of the murder."

"Correct."

"But something in my gut, tells me that we may need her in assistance."

"Y-wait what?!"

"We need Hope. If that girl was able to deduce about the boy so quickly and precisely than she may have a thought who the killer is."

"B-but that's what I'm here for!"

"I know but we may need assistance from someone else. Please Sherlock, give her a chance, besides she's brilliant!"

"I-I"

"Please Sherlock! If the girl is useless than we'll let her go, if she's worthy than we can keep her."

After several attempts at refusing, Sherlock finally gives up. "Ok fine." Sherlock sighs. "But if she gets in my way-"

"Gets in your way?! She's a teenager not a child! I'm sure she knows about personal space, Sherlock!" John scoffs.

All John could hear next is grumbling from the man next to him. He ignores Sherlock and heads back towards the girl waiting to see the boy's body off to the hospital.

* * *

It's John again and he's running straight towards me.

"Hope, Sherlock and I were wondering if you would like to help us with the murders. Because there are many more that are like these and we may need your help."

I cross my arms against my chest and stare into the direction of where Sherlock is impatiently standing. "I don't know, it seems like Sherlock doesn't want help."

"We need assistance from someone as young and intelligent as you. We need your help, and I feel you have information you might want to share with us."

I really do want to tell them about the man in the cab, but it could be just a coincidence, I suppose. He could just be a creep that likes to stalk the people that he gives a ride to.

I can see the anticipation set in his light eyes. "Ok, I'll help you. But why do you need my help when you have Sherlock?"

"Because you're different than him."

I don't understand what he means by that at first, but than I realize what it means half a second later. I've seen Sherlock's expressionless face many times in the television every now and than. Other's would call him inhuman but I imagine him differently. I'm thinking he is so obsessed with being the consulting detective that he doesn't show his emotions as much as other humans do. And he could possibly see it as a weakness and something that could get in his way.

But I'm the total opposite. I like to show my emotions around others. It makes me who I am, it's part of my personality. It's what my friends love about me. It's who I want to be. And most of all, it's part of being a human.

John and I walk over to Sherlock who was very impatiently waiting for us. I can see his light eyes look irritatingly into mine. "You can come along but if you whine, or make a statement about wanting to quit, than you are very welcome to leave and never come back."

"You have my word." I say with a small curl of a smirk play on my lips.

Sherlock nods for a brief second while John calls for a cab. The cab finally comes and for a split second, I get an illusion of the man in the cab, but thankfully it isn't.

Unknown to me, the two men have already gotten into the cab and Sherlock is staring at me, still irritated. "Well? Are you coming along?"

I blink to get focused on the situation and stare into Sherlocks eyes. "Yeah, I just thought I saw- never mind it isn't important."

I step into the cab next to Sherlock and close the door. "Off we go then." John says.

Sherlock was still staring at me, in curiosity to what I had wanted to say earlier. "Is there anything you want to say?"

I look out the window, so Sherlock can't see my lying eyes. "There's nothing on my mind thats relevant towards the situation."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: I'm terribly sorry I haven't updated the story in a month. But I've been really busy and it kills me that I haven't had the time to write and update most of my stories. But I'm also writing a new story and dealing with the stress of what we call "life". So I'm actually working on the fourth chapter right now, and Jim is going to be in it. Finally. **

**Especially since Moriarty's a big part in the story in many different ways. But I don't want to spoil it so I'll leave it at that, unless you want to guess what happens and er...yeah so I'll just shut up and let you read the chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 3

I stand around the London police as they systematically survey the flat for drugs. They begin to pat me down and taking out all my belongings in my jacket, annoyingly, and muttering to themselves, words I cannot make out.

Lestrade's gaze flicker from me to John and Sherlock. John laughs at Lestrade's excuse for barging into the flat. I know better than to giggle about the drugs since Sherlock looks so stern and uncomfortable about it, even if he hides it I can still tell his true emotions.

Anderson, a member of the New Scotland Yard forensics team who openly despises Sherlock, desperately wants to arrest him but Lestrade wont allow him, because he obviously wants insight on the case.

Mrs. Hudson calls Sherlock down because a cab is waiting for him.

Sherlock says he didn't call for a cab, and thats when I remember-

The man who continuously stalked and followed Alex and I, the day we ran into Sherlock. His dark and mysterious expression on his face as I leaned into the mirror to take a small glance at him. The deep gut feeling that something was wrong, the entire time my suspicions were correct but I was never sure, until now.

I watch as Sherlock stares down at the stairs, with his look as hard as ever, and the cabbie slowly taking his time, one step at a time, with his focus on the consulting detective, and me, not moving an inch, my mouth shut, regretting I didn't say something sooner.

The only question is, why didn't he eliminate me when he had the chance?

Sherlock goes outside with the cabbie, while John and I move to the window and watch as Sherlock leaves with the strange man.

"We need to follow them before Sherlock does anything stupid." I say with my heart beating rapidly.

"He's already done something stupid." John replies.

We both stare at each other for a minute, with a smile crossing our faces as we both know what we're thinking. I look around for Lestrade and his team's attention and they're still talking over the situation.

Not thinking I would notice, John quietly stuffs a gun into his jacket and clears his throat, letting me know that he's ready to go.

I grab his wrist and we run out of the flat with our shoes hitting against the loose wooden stairs, unfortunately, aiming the attention of the police.

As I hit the palm of my hand against the door, my sensitive ears can hear the police yelling at us to stop but we soon discovered we don't care about them, only the fate of a intelligent pain-in-the-ass.

We call a cab, not thinking about the irony of the situation, but only thinking if our strange friend is still living or coming to an quick end.

But then again...I seem to forget that Sherlock isn't much of an idiot as some see him as.

"Don't worry, Sherlock may be incredibly stupid...but he's insanely smart also, and if he has more wits than he is foolish, than he'll come to his senses and not do anything he would regret." I say, as John breathes in through his mouth.

I have the sudden urge to cover John's hand with mine in comfort, but the cab makes a sharp stop to an empty school building.

The two of us get out of the cab and we rush into the building as fast as our legs can take us.

We check every room until we reach the furthest one, and it seems like forever when we finally turn the knob, with our hands trembling like harmless pets meeting new owners.

We enter into the room and scramble around for Sherlock and the strange cabbie. Unfortunately, we find only desks and bookcases surrounding the entire area and I feel my heart sinks into my abdomen, feeling defeated and hopeless.

John, however, stares at a glassy surface with true terror eclipsing off his face. "Shit." I hear him curse, and my attention darts over to whatever seems to be the object of his concentration.

And there, across from us, is indeed Sherlock, at the near end of placing a small substance inside his mouth, most likely what I earlier figured to be something consumable. A small pill that can instantly kill you in a matter of seconds, where no physical injuries are shown, but only the poison inside resides to be the proof.

My features not yet striking in horror, but yet shock at the coming of reality had made me stiff, where my mouth cannot seem to close and my mind perhaps has given up on what to say.

"T-the gun." I finally get myself to say.

"W-what?" John asks in an snap of processing what I'm trying to tell him.

"Shoot!" I practically yell at him, as he fumbles to reach for the small gun and aims towards the man, watching Sherlock coming close to his end.

And all of a sudden, I hear it, see it, and feel it. The bullet slices through the glass of the building and into the man's shoulder, making him fall to the floor.

John and I run out of the room, and see the police surrounding the perimeter. As we inch closer, I see Sherlock covered in an shock blanket, being questioned by Lestrade.

We run over to them, and watch in amusement as Sherlock is rambling on about nonsense until John appears on the scene.

They begin talking about the cabbie, while I remain silent with the question I've been asking myself burning inside my mind, readying to burst out.

Instead of saying what my mind wants me to say, I shake my head and wrap my arms over my chest. "Your such an idiot, Sherlock!"

John becomes silent and Sherlock's attention turns to me. He doesn't say anything but isn't as quiet as John. His eyes blaze into mine and I feel a strange connection between us. Something we can both understand and for once, neither of us question it. He doesn't smile, nor show any signs of content but somewhere, deep inside, we both know that he has given me permission to stay, and that is the only thing I seem to not understand.

But the question between that is why. Why he has intended on me to stay, when he had clearly despised me from the very beginning.

But only one can answer this one. And that is the consulting detective himself.

The connection breaks off and in the inner depths of my view, there are two figures heading our way. A very tall man and a woman constantly texting on her mobile.

Sherlock seems to recognize this man, who seems to believe himself of a higher authority of some sort.

They have a small chat, and it comes to an conclusion that during this whole case I would have never suspected. Sherlock Holmes has a brother.

After talking to the man, now known as "Mycroft", we begin to walk towards a dinner, theoring about this new "mystery man" by the name of "Moriarty".


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I bring the book over to my face and flip through the pages to entertain myself. But I've read this book more than four times already and I can't help but wonder why the police haven't found the murderer of Carl Powers after all these years.

My attention darts off the case when I hear someone closing the door. I look to the front of the room, and see a young man, short, dark hair and dark eyes.

_"Ooh, he's cute"._ I think as I feel my cheeks starting to heat up.

He makes his way over to Molly, the young woman who has an obvious liking to Sherlock, and places a hand on her back.

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." Molly shows him, Sherlock and she looks over to John. "And uh sorry..."

John looks offended, "John Watson."

She looks over to me and I get up from the chair, walking towards them. I stretch my arm out, so he can shake my hand and I say. "Hope Falem."

Jim's hand gently meets mine and my throat has suddenly come to an close. A strange set of warmth rushes up my arm, as he slightly tightens his grip on my fingers.

His eyes begin to dig into mine, and somehow, I start to sense something peculiar about him. His dark as coal eyes shine into mine with a odd grin to them and suddenly, I feel a chill go down my spine.

It certainly isn't a good one.

And he knows it too.

I force a smile on my face, as I disconnect eye contact with Jim and face Molly. I squeeze through the two of them and whisper in her ear in fake approval, "He's really attractive."

I can sense the blush rising in her cheeks as I whisper in her ear, and when I draw away, she gives me a slight grin of glee.

I slowly back away, slightly afraid of the glance the man gave me who is now staring at Sherlock in wonder.

I turn my body completely around to where Molly and her boyfriend can only see my backside and travel back to the chair at the side of the room.

Once I pick up my book, I feel two eyes burning into the side of my head, with a strange glint I can't seem to interpret.

I ignore the glare and again, I flip through the pages of the book, retaining the urge to sigh in utter boredom until I hear a loud crash.

My attention snaps towards the noise, and I see that the petri dish that was on the table is now on the floor, and Jim had knocked it over, clumsily.

As Jim walks away, towards the entrance, his eyes shift from the consulting detective to me. His eyes boring into mine with the awkward glance losing it's touch and filled with satisfaction.

If I had looked closer, I would have seen a small smirk of victory plastered on his face as he pushes open the door.

Once he's gone, Molly and Sherlock have a small argument about Jim and his sexuality. The way he grooms himself, the exposed underwear, and the telephone number he placed under Sherlock's petri dish.

Fearing they might pull me into the conversation, I lift the book closer to my face, and pretend like I'm reading the passage.

"Hope!" Sherlock/Molly yell.

_Shit, I'm screwed. _I watch as Molly quickly paces herself over to me, and lowers the book from my face.

"Don't drag me into this." I say, but they both ignore me.

"Well, what do you think, is he gay or not?" Molly asks trying to defend her relationship with the mysterious IT employee.

I shrug at Molly and lock eyes with Sherlock. "Well, Jim looked pretty straight to me. I mean he did show affection towards Molly-"

Molly nods her head at Sherlock, which he ignores.

"But than again...he did leave his number under your petri dish."

Sherlock raises his eyebrows at Molly, who looks confused at my statement.

"But, he did give me a strange look when I introduced myself."

Molly whips her head towards me, nearly having me jump out of my seat in fear. "What look?"

As I try recalling it, I can feel the heating radiating off my cheeks. "Err-never mind, it's probably nothing."

Molly kneels down to my level, as I curl up in the chair. "No, try to tell me at least." She yells almost annoyingly.

I stare at the floor so I wouldn't be a tomato when I watch them stare at me for the answer. "He stared at me in a fascinated kind-of way, I guess."

"Fascinated in what way?" John pipes in.

Thats when my face goes stark red, and I seriously try to avoid any gaze they send me. "Amusement...maybe?" I say not quite sure.

I fully didn't interpret Jim's gaze when I had the chance, but that's what I had gotten the strange vibe from, if that what amusement was but it was sort-of vague, so it was somewhat unclear and yet hard to be sure about.

Tired of the eerie silence and the complete nonsense we're arguing about, I decide to say something I might regret later. "I'm starting to think Sherlock is right. He might be gay."

I watch as Molly's eyes crush into a million pieces in front of me, and I immediately regret what I had just said.

Molly runs out of the room to confront Jim, and John and Sherlock are staring at me. John in disappointment and Sherlock in indifference.

I sit up from the chair and make my way towards the table. With their gaze still on me, I clear my throat and examine the shoes. "So..what have we got?" I ask in fake curiosity and guilt.

* * *

**Ok so, I want your feedback on the chapter. Was it good? Did it suck? What flaws where in the plot that I could have deleted? Just tell me and I will do better. Thannnk You! **

**xoxoxoxoxo ~ EmmaAugustLover (hopefully later known as either QueenMoriarty5 or FabulousGhirahim) choose your pick on the poll in my profile. **


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